At Midnight
by Secret-Story-Girl
Summary: There are five main chapters, which I will upload every few days to two weeks depending on life. I will then add several "extra stories" that aren't central to the main plot, but flesh out the work into a fuller story. This work is to celebrate my ship Tenderella (The Tenth Doctor and Disney's Cinderella), which for me is headcannon. It takes place right after Martha has left.
1. At Midnight

_The Clock Chimed._

She lifted her skirts inches higher, all the while scanning the various halls. Paying attention earlier helped little now, the dazzling decorations that had before entranced her, overwhelmed as she attempted to make her escape. Halls bled together into rooms that loomed over her, the empty void clawing as though desirous that she not escape. She ducked into another hallway that opened into a foyer and turned about on her foot trying to catch her bearings.

In the arms of a noble, she had danced about in a dazed stupor, simply following his lead as though it was perfectly normal to waltz about the halls to the outdoors with a man she barely knew. Choosing her above all the other ladies in the ballroom, not asking about title or wealth simply pulling her onto the floor to dance and swinging her throughout the room, he had bedazzled her and all rational thought had left her. But with the chiming of the clock came the awakening of sanity, and now she darted in and out of rooms all directional bearing gone and the looming threat of being caught hurrying her at the same time the fear of being lost told her racing heart to slow and her frantic brain to watch and observe her surroundings.

_The Clock Chimed._

How many times now? Her wandering thoughts caused her to lose count. Once? Twice? Five Times? Ten? The higher she counted, the more panicked, she became convincing herself that the magic would wear away any moment. Frantic, she quit watching her surroundings and began ducking in and out of rooms without even attempting to catalog them in her mind. An exit caught her eye as she whizzed past, so she backtracked and ducked through, hoping for the best.

The doorway exited her out into a garden terrace. Not the escape she was looking for. Her spirit sank as she scanned the enclosed balcony. What she thought might have lead her outside was still surrounded by not only the palace walls, but also a railing that cut her off from even hiding in the bushes and waiting til the immediate issue had passed over. Decorative angels seemed to mock her predicament, one rose up behind evergreen bushes like the kind her mother had planted as a hedge around their home. The artist had managed to capture the appearance of looseness, and at a quick glance seemed to be dancing about gayly, but frozen forever with it's arm lifted into the air. From a sculpted sash held in stone fingers, hung a clock rocking about in the soft breeze two hands pointed at the twelve o'clock, the third hand seconds away from declaring midnight.

She pushed wispy strands of hair away from her sticky face. The cool night air was filled with warm moisture, promising rain during the early morning hours. Stepping back, she turned to look back at the exit she had used. There was no way out. She could run about the halls continually, or she could stay out here and wait. Either way, she was trapped; he would find her: see her for who she truly was.

_The Clock Chimed._

It never should have come to this. Seeing the castle, watching the couples swirl about in bright colors, turning the dance floor into an enchanting vision, blending in—that's all she had wanted. The impossibility of someone actually coming to her, choosing her above all the other ladies. And why? What made her stand out from the others? She—a poor girl dressed in sparkling riches must have seemed dim next to the glimmering nobles: her social ineptitude an affront to those who saw themselves as better than people such as herself.

Leaning on the balustrade, resting her chin in her hand, she stared at the dancing angel; although at second glance, it seemed to be mourning. Its right hand covered the eyes of its down-turned face. "I understand how you feel," she murmured at the weeping angel. The artist had someone captured pure emotion in stone, depending on how she looked at the angel she could see simple joy, utter despair, and a glee that sent chills down her back: as peeking out from the hand was the mouth, pulled into a smile or grimace, impossible to tell without seeing the rest of the face.

_The Clock Chimed._

She turned around leaning against the railing, crumpling her dress into wrinkles, but what did it really matter. She covered her forehead with a white gloved hand, not able to help but wondering where she went wrong. Her hand slid from her head, and she turned her face up to stare at the sky. Bright diamonds winked down at her: secrets hidden in inky black too far away to reach. Running away was foolish, able to change nothing. She had tried tonight to escape her life—and had failed miserably. She could gaze at stars all she wanted; she'd never be able to touch them. If she could, how much better could it really be?

_The Clock Chimed._

Wisps of hair again fell into her face. Again she pushed them aside. Perfectly coiffed waves don't hold up well to dashing about halls. A fairytale dream had degraded swiftly into a nightmare. Magical godmothers, mice, and pumpkins—everything seemed little more than a daze now. The evening of her dreams had become much worse than normal daily life. Here she stood, waiting to be discovered in little more than rags, not knowing what would happen next. Perhaps dreams weren't as wonderful as her father had always told her. Wishing had only bought her a nightmare.

If only that man could have just let her go instead of fancying himself in love. Love at first sight was balderdash. Certainly she had been entranced. Candlelight, a waltz, paired with a dreamy man would make any girl's heart throb. She was just sensible enough to understand it wasn't love; whereas, he didn't seem to understand that concept.

_The Clock Chimed._

Somewhere behind her, she noticed that the clock had chimed again. Yet it felt as though hours had passed. Mere seconds couldn't last so long, though they certainly did drag by at home, turning hours into days. Even time tortured her, still tonight it seemed to be willing to help her escape. Perhaps that was a part of the magic that had already possessed this night. She glanced toward the clock tower. Leaving to search for another exit seemed so pointless, her fate was sealed. Eventually he or someone else would find her, in rags or returning to rags, the latter threatening to create even more questions to which she had no rational explanation. Fairy godmother wouldn't cut it.

She blew at another loose strand of hair and turned to face the castle. If only she could stop time, freeze everyone and make her escape back home, better yet run away and find a new life. But time doesn't stop...ever. No matter how slowly it drags, it always moves. Besides she'd already tried to run from her life, even if just for a moment and it hadn't been quite what she was expecting. Instead she had a mess on her hands. She sank to the floor.

_The Clock Chimed._

With it came a strange sound somewhere to her side, catching her attention and bringing her back to her feet. Her heart paused a moment then began racing as though life itself were being drained from it at a rapid pace. They'd caught up with her for certain, were going to punish her. She swirled around to face the sound, skirts swishing and tangling about her legs. The strange whirring like metal scraping metal grated against her ears. With the sound came a flash of light, glowing brightly that flickered on then off, lighting the sky a brilliant white then returning it to shadows.

The air sparkled and glowed, around a concentrated spot, illuminating what appeared to be a blue box with the letter E, L, B O X scripted across the top. Transfixed she watched as the box went from incorporeal to solid over and again. How strange. She stepped closer, drawn to the magic box.

_The Clock Chimed._

And then it rested silent in the middle of the terrace as though it had always been there and hadn't just popped into existence where before there had been only air. One gloved hand stretched out toward the box and settled on a royal blue panel. Wooden grain brushed her palm and fingers. She pulled back. Wood not stone. Curiouser and curiouser. She gripped one of the handles; right as she was about to see if what seemed to be a door would open, the door flung toward her, emitting a smoky mist and a shadowy figure.

_The Clock Chimed._

She back-stepped quickly, tripping over the train of her dress, falling backwards to the cobbled floor. A hand shot out through the mist and snatched hers, yanking her to her feet. The movement so disarmed her that she nearly toppled forward onto the man that had been her rescuer, and they tripped about in an awkward dance until they stood facing each other. She couldn't help but look away blushing when he smiled down at her. His eyes lit up, twinkling with suppressed laughter, not something she really wanted to see. His crazy dress and mussy spiked hair were so contrary to the smooth and perfectly placed styles the men in the castle had been wearing. Like her, he must be an outsider, which made sense seeing he had just appeared out of thin air.

_The Clock Chimed._

"Well," he said in an accent that was distinctly British, and Northern if she remembered correctly where her mother had said she was from. His voice lilted in exactly the same way her mother's had. It had been so many years since such a sound had touched her ears, "That's an entrance I've not made before." She looked up at him to see him staring down at her with a face thin and unusually shaped yet altogether captivating. Such a strange face, such a strange night. What was happening?

_The Clock Chimed._

"Who—Who are you?" The words left her lips as a mere whisper as speaking would surely break the enchantment, and it seemed a crime to do such a thing. Yet with that thought of enchantments breaking, as the words left her mouth to be breathed into existence in the air then silenced forever by the vast atmosphere, the final stroke of midnight tolled in the distance, and magic swirled about, leaving her standing in naught but rags.

The stranger offered her a crooked smile then stepped back, moving like a clumsy dancer, surprise at her transformation not even registering on his face, as though magic was boring old business to him. "I'm the Doctor, of course, and by the events occurring before my eyes, you, my dear, must be none other than the lovely Cinderella, though this whole thing is completely illogical. It seems that the story is based in some sort of truth, and someone here has been meddling with affairs. Now where is your prince? Oh, no matter really, we'll get this all straightened out in a hurry. Now where did I put that…"

During his speech, Cinderella had remained completely silent, baffled by the strange talk. Her jaw hung slack and open as she stared, listening to the doctor jabber on about time and other things that simply made no sense. Her brain started to melt, incapable of forming any logical thought after the events of the day. She opened her mouth to reply, but all that sputtered out was "Doctor Who?"

He had turned to examine the box he'd stepped out of , pointing a glowing stick at it, and didn't bother to face her while responding, "The Doctor, simply the Doctor." He continued to mutter, "Now where and when am I, and why here? I'm certain these aren't the coordinates I put in..."

Cinderella cleared her throat, receiving no response; the "Doctor" continued to mutter to himself using utterly foreign words like logistics and T.A.R.D.I.S. "Ahem." She tried a little louder this time.

"In the wrong place anyway. She should be dancing about with her prince, Charming as always, not wandering about with," here he paused to look over his shoulder, "two glass slippers, hasn't even had the decency to lose the one."

"Oh!" Cinderella looked to her feet, sure enough there were the two glass slippers that her Fairy Godmother had gifted her. A smile spread across her face, and the Doctor was silent. She had been left a memory of the day. Magical glass slippers to hide away in her attic room and pull out whenever she was having a hard day back at home. A reminder of the strangest night ever.

"No, no, no, what time is it? No don't answer that. I know what time it is. Your dress is back to normal. It had to be a hologram projector (the only logical explanation), set for midnight of course, but why? And the shoes aren't holograms. Someone has been here, but why? Why? And who? This was supposedly a fairytale, not real, and yet it is happening, but it isn't because she has both shoes, and how can the prince find her if she has both shoes. If this story is real, it isn't flexible because it's a legend, and legends are steeped in truth, so it can't become a legend, much less a story unless she's lost a shoe, and if it doesn't happen...well, it must. AH!"

Cinderella watched as he jumped away from her touch. So engrossed in his own thoughts he hadn't heard her. "_The_ Doctor, please, you're acting like a mad man. Why do you keep speaking of the prince? Are you going to tell him where I am? I haven't even seen him tonight. He doesn't need to know. What are you even doing here? How did you get here? And how do you know my name? I'm certain we've never met. Well?"

"It's not _the_ Doctor, simply Doctor. Can't be that bloody hard to understand."

"Fine then Doctor. That doesn't answer—"

"If you'd pause for a breath I could answer you," said the Doctor. Cinderella opened her mouth to reply then closed it, folding her arms across her chest and raising an eyebrow. Her foot tapped against the cobbles. "Better. You, my dear, are meant to be far from here by now, with only one shoe and a madly in love prince chasing you."

"But I don't know any—"

"And yet, somehow, something has gone wrong, and time has been tweaked, which bodes no good as changing a fixed point destroys the parameters of time, causing all sorts of conundrums, and that is exactly what is happening. Things are changing, shifting. We need to get you back home, with only one shoe, the other where the prince can find it. Now if I can just..." He turned back to the box and re-entered it.

"I don't know how you think that's an explanation, but I don't want any prince to find me, and I'm not losing a shoe. Do you know what will happen to me if I'm found here?" She moved to follow him into the box, but he popped back out effectively blocking her.

"Nothing good I'm sure. I should really get you home." He stepped in front of her, and she had to catch her breath. He was much taller than she had first realized. She'd thought he'd looked tall just because he was so slender, but that was not the case.

"I'm not certain yet who you are, Doctor, but I most assuredly will not be going anywhere with you. I just met you." With that she turned on her heel and began to head back to the doorway she had entered through. She had just reached the door and was about to pass through when she turned around to offer the Doctor one last angry retort. She couldn't believe he had made her feel so inferior with all his big words and bossy demeanor. "And anyway why would you—did that statue move?"

"Move?" the Doctor looked over his shoulder.

"Stop talking to me like I'm daft. I'm not. It didn't look like that before. When I first saw it, it had a hand covering its eyes. Now it's staring straight at me. But that's impossible. Stone can't...move." She stepped forward towards the statue, her anger with the Doctor diffusing. Could she have just imagined that it had been covering its eyes? But with all the strange events of the night, a moving statue didn't seem that impossible.

"Cinderella, (never thought I'd call anyone that), don't blink."

"Why?" She moved her head to turn to face the Doctor.

"No, no, no! Don't look away." The Doctor whipped about to stare at the statue while talking. Facing the creature and shouting at her. She jerked back and to her horror she saw that the angel that just seconds before had been placidly observing had moved forward, arms outstretched and face distorted into a hideous expression, gargoylesque in nature.

"It's moving. Wha—why, how?"

"Yes, that's why we can't blink. It can only move when we aren't watching."

"So I'm supposed to just stand here staring at it forever? How did it get here? Doctor?" She could feel her eyes turning into sand and tried futilely to half close her eyes and remoisten them.

"I am going to sound very strange for the next while, but I need you to trust me. If we can get to my T.A.R.D.I.S we'll be safe." He reached over and took her hand in his, pulling her toward himself and the T.A.R.D.I.S, and she allowed him, too transfixed by the angel to even think about what she doing. The statue remained still, immobile hands reaching for her, locked in place by sight alone. She tripped and turned to look at the Doctor, then swiftly looked back, frightened that the stone demon had moved again. The Doctor, however, seemed to also have his eyes trained on the creature, because it hadn't moved, but her movement had been enough to awaken her senses to question the Doctor.

"Follow you into a box? As strange as my day has been, you do realize how insane that sounds?" She swallowed trying to calm her racing heart but let the Doctor continue to lead her towards the box.

"Well, yes, but I need you to trust me." He gave her a little tug, and she shifted her eyes. Crazy hair, wild eyes—and yet nothing about him whispered deception. He seemed to be telling the truth. His fingers tightened around her hand; she took a deep breath and closed her eyes, letting him pull her into the box, hearing the door slam behind them. Slowly, she opened her eyes.

"Why, how is this possible? It's bigger in here than out there. I saw it appear, it wasn't this big. I'd say it's not possible, but nothing that has happened today is."

"I know, right? And yet, it is." The Doctor's face was splattered with a boyish grin, the pride of a father listening to his son being praised in his voice when he replied. He moved about adjusting knobs and levers, twisting some and pulling others. A loud clang and the scraping metal noise returned, the entire box shaking. She grasped onto a bar on the wall near the door. The entire interior of the box was blinking glowing colors, yellow illuminated the walls and reds and greens converged around the center. It was like nothing she'd ever seen.

"I think you owe me an explanation, Doctor." The box had settled down and once again seemed to be standing still, so she released the bar and joined the Doctor in the center.

"An explanation? Yes, well, I'm not sure it'd make sense to you." He pulled down a sheet of glass that looked like a mirror, but it didn't reflect the Doctor's face, instead numbers and letters flashed across it, changing randomly from time to time. She moved forward and touched it, changing the glass to a different image altogether.

"Strange...Doctor that's not good enough. I'm here, and I have the right to know. It can't be any stranger than the rest of my day." She faced him, staring up into such deep eyes, eyes that held the universe in their depths, appearing much older than the body that contained them. She swore in their centers, she could see stars, bursting into life, flickering into death, a cycle that seemed never ending. The stories those eyes held in their depths. He stared back, forehead wrinkled with thought, lines running deep as though worry had pressed down harshly on him, bearing its weight and forcing him to carry it. But then, one by one the lines disappeared, wrinkles lifting and frustration relaxing until slowly his scowl transformed: into a smile.


	2. Before Midnight

And she was gone, stepping from the T.A.R.D.I.S onto the steps of the palace. Hologram gown back in place, shoe strategically placed for the Grand Duke to find it, and the midnight bell tolling. He watched her lift her skirts and climb into her carriage racing off to her stepmother's home. When they'd first met all that time ago, though, in this reality, only seconds had passed, she'd have never known that her carriage would be leaving with her in it at the same time she saw the T.A.R.D.I.S arrive. Timey whimey madness.

His eyes remained glued to the carriage. All their adventures disappeared as it sped off over the hills and into the woods (the irony). She'd get there and wake up to meet the Grand duke, pretending to be happy, eager, but they'd both know better.

Trust me. The last thing he had whispered to her. And she had agreed, returning to set time back to rights. He was no god to change the precis of the universe's story, and as much as it destroyed him, she had to return, finish her story, or risk the consequences of changing a fixed point in time. The door clicked shut, and he pulled a switch without thinking, without calculating. This was the point of not getting attached, no companions, no goodbyes, and yet as always, he'd failed in his resolve.

Throughout time and space the T.A.R.D.I.S bumped about, she-his loyal companion, to locations he neither knew nor comprehended. He'd only known that he had to leave or risk changing time forever, reigning down wrath upon the universe. Time: set and immobile.

The T.A.R.D.I.S settled down, landing somewhere who knew, but he didn't move. Sinking down to the floor, he let his head bang against the door of the T.A.R.D.I.S. For a while he simply sat there, legs sprawled out in front of him, head slightly tilted back, eyes fixed on the ceiling. It took the jostling of the T.A.R.D.I.S to spur him into motion. It felt as though a herd of cattle had decided to reenact Mufasa's death; no matter how durable, the T.A.R.D.I.S wasn't going to stand for that long. Moving to the window, he looked out, trying to gain a glimpse of whatever was causing such commotion.

"Ah!" He jumped back, a round dripping red object having splatted into the window,sliding down and leaving a trail of..."Is that blood?" Pulling out his sonic screwdriver, he scanned over the coagulating liquid, fairly certain his hunch was correct. "Why, yes, it is. Strange." He leaned to look out the window again just as a metal ball, whizzed past. 'Yowzers! And I am glad no one was here to hear me say that, what is going on?"

A thick fog kept him from being able to see more than a blur of movements, but he was beginning to think— "A battle field? It's the only logical explanation, but why here? I should have paid attention. Well, nothing's getting done in here." And with that he opened the T.A.R.D.I.S door, and stepped-

"You there!" Out from the fog emerged three men, soldiers, dressed in uniform, two flanking a younger looking man, the one pointing at him.

"Me?" The Doctor gestured at himself, throwing a glance over his shoulder, even though he subconsciously knew only the T.A.R.D.I.S was behind him, and they couldn't be referring to her. One of the guards grabbed his upper arm and shook him bringing his thoughts back to the men in front of him. Obviously they had meant him. "Now just a minute here. I'm a civilian, honestly, I'm not really even certain where I am? What war is this?" He reached up and adjusted his glasses with his free arm, which was hastily grabbed by the other guard. "I was adjusting my glasses. Honestly, they do no harm."

"Quiet." The voice came from the leader, a young man with black hair that appeared perfectly styled even in the midst of the ruckus. "I'll be asking the questions. Take him to the prison tent and be certain he is secured. He seems a devious fellow, and I want no more setbacks. We are on schedule to end this silly skirmish with the dissatisfied locals, and I'm ready to be back home with all the comforts that entails. My father and the Grand Duke have been planning a ball for my return. I do believe my father plans to marry me off, but who knows these things?"

"Yes your highness." The guard holding the Doctor's right arm began to move forward.

"Your highness, ball? Well, that makes you a prince then? Cinderella's prince? But thats too unlikely." He tried to move towards the prince, but the guards jerked him back. "Really, the indignity—"

"See to it that he remains silent. I'm tired of hearing him speak." The prince turned about and began walking back onto the foggy battlefield.

"If that's what he's like it's no wonder Cinder—" A thundering pain swept across his head and all went black.

He opened his eyes and was greeted by darkness. In trying to move his arms to assess the injury on his head, he discovered his hands were bound behind him with what appeared to be rope, removable, but not without a slight struggle. He rested his head against the pole he was tied to, but the stabbing pain in his head kept him from staying in that position. Letting it fall forward, he allowed himself a cynical smile. The ache in his head distracted him from the ache in his heart. Cinderella was destined to marry a man, possibly that man, though improbably. A man who would never know who she really was. Just some decoration. Some prince. Perhaps this is why everyone speculated about ever after. The true tale had been changed and continued to be changed and adapted because the truth was too horrible.

By now his eyes had begun to adjust to the dark lighting, and he could make out the tent he was sitting in. Nothing much to note other than the tarp surrounding him and dirt on the floor. It didn't appear that the guards had searched him, merely tied him to the pole. So essentially nothing to hinder nor help him escape. If he could only get to his sonic screw driver. Lifting his hands, he tested whether or not he could move them up and down the pole, to his delight they slid up, which meant if he could lose the pole he could get free...and bring the tent down, but with it being night hopefully, he could get a headstart. He began to pull forward and then lean back.

It was taking too long by the time he finally freed the pole from its prison in the ground, it would be daylight, and if they—when they saw his attempts to escape, they would put an end to it. He leaned forward letting all his weight fall against the pole, feeling the ropes cut off his circulation, and grunted. The pole shifted forward, and gasping from the exertion, he pushed back on the pole, shoving it back the other way. It was much heavier now that he was supporting the majority of its weight, but the ground had given; he was closer to freedom.

The repetition now required his full attention, no more daydreamings of the impossible. He could see the tent swaying, hoping against hope that whoever was on night guard was not looking this way. He pushed his legs against the ground, using his knees to support his and the pole's weight he attempted to stand. Much heavier than he expected, the pole barely lifted from the ground before dropping him back onto his rear. But it had moved. Bracing again, he put his full strength into lifting the pole. This time, it came up and out of the hole that he widened; unluckily though it fell forward instead of backwards, wacking him back to the ground.

Pain skiced through his skull and spots danced before his eyes, but he shook it off and began to pull his hands down the length of the pole. He could hear men talking too close by and knew discovery was not far off. As soon as he came to the end, he slipped his hands out of the rope that had been twisted to keep his hands bound tightly only while connected to the pole. He pulled his sonic screwdriver out of his pocket and began searching for an edge of the fallen tent just as the first sounds of discovery were made.

He flipped off the tent and stood, screwdriver brandished as a weapon, just as the guard arrived. The man jerked to a hault seeing the strange "weapon" pointed at him. "That's right. Back away. Better," he commented as the man shuffled backwards. "Now take me to your leader, Prince-?"

"C-ch-charming, sir," the man stumbled. The Doctor lowered his arm, and stared at the man, a befuddled frown twisting his face in its overly expressive manner.

"Charming, you are joking? No don't reach for that sword. I really don't want to use this on you. It's quite advanced technology, and I'm not certain of the effects. They will be painful of course." His bluff brought the guard's movements to a halt. "Good, now Charming, if you please, and nomsudden movements. I really do prefer peace, but I have had a very bad day, and I'm really in little mood for games and deceit."

The guard fumbled a nod in his directionmbefore twisting and leading the Doctor through the camp. He hoped that no one took full notice of what was happening, invading a camp alone was risky, but he wanted answers.

The prince's tent came into sight before long, a grand structure too elaborate for the battlefield, but right in sync with the dandy's personality. The Doctor snorted, "No need to wait for an invitation to come in. Just introduce me as we walk in."

The man's color changed in the glow ofmthe sonic screwdriver, and the Doctor knew he'd not asked a light request, but the time for formality was simply over. Maybe if someone were there with him, but he seemed doomed to be alone.

"Soldier, what is the meaning of this?" The prince rose from his cushioned chair and pushed the papers on the desk back. "This man is a prisoner. Why-"

"Not anymore," the Doctor cut him short. "I am in need of some information, and this man wisely decidex to bring me to you, rather than see what effects my sonic-," he mumbled the next word, "will do to him."

"Are you threatening me?"

"I am a threat to all those who oppose time and threaten peace. Sit."

Stunned, the prince dropped back into his chair, warily eyeing the Doctor's sonic screwdriver. His bluff might actually get him what he wanted. All in a day's luck. He motioned for the guard to leave, who all to willingly obliged him, and then took a seat across from the Prince. This one did not have a cushion.

"Now I can tell from how things are arranged, your concern is for little other than yourself. However, indulge me. We do not have to be enemies."

The prince rose from his chair. "How dare you threaten me in such a fashion. My father-"

"Is not here, which means you must be the commander instead of hiding behind someone more powerful. Now what planet is this?"

"What kind of obscene question is that, God has provided life to only one planet."

"Yes, yes and the earth is the center of the universe. What war is this? And year? Be precise please."

"Are you mad?" The prince rose from his chair again and walked across the floor, clearly agitated. "You most be some insufferabl peasant trying to trick me into surrender. I wouldn't know why though. You are clearly losing. The skirmish will be cleaned up in no time. Your strange dress might have fooled me at first, but I do believe that object is harmless. Guards!"

The Doctor jumped from his seat and grabbed the prince, pushing him back against the table, holding him there by his shirt. For all his bravado, the man was slender and fine as though he'd never seen an actual day of battle in his life, instead choosing to direct from the safety of his tent.

The flaps of the tent flew apart. "Back off. Back off. Or I will blind this man." The guards moved cautiously, but they didn't stop moving toward him. "Oh! Really? I didn't want to actually have to do anything. Violence is so unnecessary. Oh well." And with that he flashed the sonic screwdriver in the prince's eyes.

"Enough stop!" The prince cried out. "The man is a praticioner of sorcerory and has managed to communicate with the unholy spirits. May he rot in hell. Stay back!" The soldiers had attempted tp move forward, and the Doctor threateningly pointed the "unholy device" back at the prince's eyes.

"The effects are not permanent now, as you should already know, but I would hate for them to have to become permanent. Blimey, I really don't like violence. Honestlym this whole thing should never have worked. Answer my questions. I'll leave you alone." He stepped back from the prince and stood to the side, relaxing his body into a more non-threatening posture. THe guards' eyes kept flicking back and forth between their prince and the Doctor, unsure as to how to respond to the obvious threat.

"You sir, have found your way to France in the midst of a local skirmish against the king." The prince finished with a glare.

"Well, now, that wasn't that difficult. If we had started like this we'd all be friends. Really though, you need to work on your diplomatic skills. Keep this behavior up, and well honestly, the French monarchy isn't going to have a cake walk through history. Funny Marie Antionette's downfall was over cake, anyway, that's beside the point."

"What is your point?" One of the guards interrupted.

"I'm not sure there was one. Sometimes I just feel the need to monologue."The Doctor shrugged. The men in the tent were beginning to look at him as though he had gone slightly mad, probably thought him possessed by some demon or other. "Still is the age of superstition after all. Anyway, I'd say good luck, but not really a fan of tyranny. He shrugged and walked out of the tent.

As he made his way toward the T.A.R.D.I.S, a strange sound caught his ears. He turned around to look behind him. His eyes could make out strange shapes riding down the mountainside. Dust billowed in clouds stirring up the air. All around men began to duck out of tents to explore the strange sound like a "battlecry? No, peasant skirmish ever sounded like that." He pointed the Sonic Screwdriver in the direction of the approaching enemy. "I do hope it scans the distance well." He slapped it on the palm of his hand. "No good I'll have to get closer."

He darted off in the direction of the riders as the prince poked his head out of his tent, shouting questions about what the commotion was all about. The Doctor ignored him, continuing in his pursuit of knowledge.

"Stop him! He's brought a new enemy to us." He could hear footsteps fall instep behind him, and picked up his pace.

"Of all the bloody idiots, why this prince?" Lifting his legs ridiculously high and lifting his screwdriver, he made a mad dash toward the enemy. "Never knew the Cinderella story had all this bloodshed and trauma behind it. Perhaps this will rectify the prince's attitude issues and make him into the docile man she spoke about. No wonder the two prince's don't mesh in her mind. This battle is enough to drive anyone into a mutiple personality disorder." He slid down a hill, bypassing the supplies and hoping he'd gained enough distance pointed the screwdriver in the direction of the cloud.

"You, stop with your sorcerory. You will not be the downfall of France." The prince snatched the Doctor by the lapel of his jacket and jerked him back, causing him to lose his grip on the sonic screwdriver. "What are you without your magic wand, warlock. After this battle, you will burn."

"No, you don't understand, it's the Moors. I didn't bring them, but you are no match for them. You need to retreat save you men. Regroup. Bloody hell, man, have you ever directed a battle before. You can't win as you stand. Order a retreat!"

"How dare you-I am the king's son, God's chosen, soldiers take him away!"

"Sire, look out!" The cry came from the multide of soldiers surrending, but it was too late. The enemy had come upon them, and an arrow had pierced through the heart of the prince. His grip on the Doctor went slack, and he fell, lifeless to the ground.

"The prince is dead," a soldier bellowed, a cry taken up by the ranks of soldiers. Mad panic began to run through the ranks in no particular order as panic rarely comes in an orderly fashion.

"Men! Men! Stand firm. If we don't make a stand here, the army will be dessimated. Your kingdom will be overrun. We stand here." He darted forward and picked up the sonic screwdriver from the dirt. "Someone hand me a sword." The men looked around at each other. Another arrow struck down a soldier, and the men began shuffling backwards in blind panic. The Doctor ran over to the body and grabbed his sword.

"Hold your ground, hold your ground! Sons of Gondor, of Rohan, my brothers! I see in your eyes the same fear that would take the heart of me. A day may come when the courage of men fails, when we forsake our friends and break all bonds of fellowship, but it is not this day...This day we fight!By all that you hold dear on this good Earth, I bid you stand Men of the West." The men stopped and stared at him, a look of confusion crossing their face.

"The prince? But I thought-"

"How can this be?"

"It's a sign from God."

"The sorceror must have been a Saint from God, sent to save us."

"Rally to the Prince!"

"To the Prince!"

The Doctor stared, confused by the actions of the men, then with a shrug, he let out a battle cry, and charged forward.

Both armies clashed in the middle. Men fighting sword to sword against axe against bow. A blur of motion, but the valor of men can only be boosted so much when faced by an impossible force. The Doctor watched as sheer numbers overran his soldiers. One by one they dropped.

"Retreat!" He yelled. "Fall back men! To the T.A.R.D.I.S! I mean-the saints carriage! To the carriage!"

All around him, men began to fall back, trying to secure a line while surrounding the Doctor and attempting to shuffle him to safety. The Doctor made his way back to the T.A.R.D.I.S and selecting two fo the men closest by him, told them to stand watch. With that he jumped into the T.A.R.D.I.S and began flipping switches and turning knobs.

"Okay Moors, back off. Today is not your day. This is not your time. Something will go right for this story."

The T.A.R.D.I.S lifted off the ground flying through the Moor army and scattering the troups, giving the French the necesssary element of surprise to gain the upper hand.

The battlefield was empty. Only a few soldiers left behind to escort him back to the palace. Bt the Doctor stood waiting.

"You."

"Me? Have we met?"

The old woman giggled.

"What plan do you have here? Why are you doing this?"

"I assure you, I have no idea what you're talking about. I am merely an old lady with skills that can help my countrymen. Both on the battlefield and in the palace. The people need a wise ruler. I like you, like your face. You alone stood firm when so many were ready to fall, and all without ever taking a life yourself. Such regard for the living. I respect that."

"You haven't met her yet."

"Who dear?"

A smile spread across the Doctor's face. "In three days time, I will be throwing a ball to celebrate our victory and show the people the start of a new era, a new regime. There is a girl who needs to be there."

"And why would you think that?" The old lady smiled at him, her pale blue cloak fluttering in the wind.

"Because she is the most deserving girl I've ever met, and one day, we might just return the favor."

"Oh, do divulge the details. I love playing the Fairy Godmother."


End file.
